This book is dedicated with love 26 страница

Jennifer felt faint. “Please, let’s get out of here.”

Inspector Touh put his hand on her arm. “One moment.”

He stood there watching, and after a while he led Jennifer away.

That night, Jennifer dreamt of the crocodiles clawing and tearing each other to pieces. Two of them suddenly turned into Michael and Adam, and in the middle of her nightmare Jennifer woke up, trembling. She was unable to go back to sleep.

The raids began. Federal and local law-enforcement agents struck in a dozen different states and in half a dozen foreign countries, and the raids were orchestrated to take place simultaneously.

In Ohio, a senator was arrested while making a speech to a women’s club on honesty in government.

In New Orleans, an illegal national bookmaking operation was shut down.

In Amsterdam, a diamond smuggling operation was halted.

A bank manager in Gary, Indiana, was arrested on charges of laundering Organization money.

In Kansas City, a large discount house filled with stolen goods was raided.

In Phoenix, Arizona, half a dozen detectives on the vice squad were placed under arrest.

In Naples, a cocaine factory was seized.

In Detroit, a nationwide automobile theft ring was broken up.

Unable to reach Jennifer by telephone, Adam Warner went to her office.

Cynthia recognized him instantly.

“I’m sorry, Senator Warner, Miss Parker is out of the country.”

“Where is she?”

“The Shangri-La Hotel in Singapore.”

Adam’s spirits rose. He could telephone her and warn her not to return.

The hotel housekeeper walked in as Jennifer was getting out of the shower.

“Excuse me. What time will you be checking out today?”

“I’m not checking out today. I’m leaving tomorrow.”

The housekeeper looked puzzled. “I was told to get this suite ready for a party coming in late tonight.”

“Who told you to do that?”

“The manager.”

Downstairs, an overseas call was coming in at the switchboard. There was a different operator on duty and a different man was standing over her.

The operator spoke into her mouthpiece. “New York City calling Miss Jennifer Parker?”

She looked at the man standing next to her. He shook his head.

“I’m sorry. Miss Parker has checked out.”

The sweeping raids continued. Arrests were made in Honduras, San Salvador, Turkey and Mexico. The net swept up dealers and killers and bank robbers and arsonists. There were crackdowns in Fort Lauderdale and Atlantic City and Palm Springs.

And they continued.

In New York, Robert Di Silva was keeping close track of the progress being made. His heart beat faster as he thought about the net that was closing in on Jennifer Parker and Michael Moretti.

Michael Moretti escaped the police dragnet by sheer chance. It was the anniversary of his father-in-law’s death, and Michael and Rosa had gone to the cemetery to pay homage to her father.

Five minutes after they left, a carload of FBI agents arrived at Michael Moretti’s house and another carload at his office. When they learned he was not in either place, the agents settled down to wait.

Jennifer realized that she had neglected to make a plane reservation for Stefan Bjork back to the States. She called Singapore Airlines.

“This is Jennifer Parker. I’m booked on your Flight One-Twelve leaving tomorrow afternoon for London. I’d like to make an additional reservation.”

“Thank you. Would you hold the line, please?”

Jennifer waited and after a few minutes the voice came back on the line. Was that Parker? P-A-R-K-E-R?”

“Yes.”

“Your reservation has been canceled, Miss Parker.”

Jennifer felt a small shock. “Canceled? By whom?”

“I do not know. You have been taken off our passenger list.”

“There’s been some mistake. I’d like you to put me back on that list.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Parker. Flight One-Twelve is full.”

Inspector Touh was the one to straighten everything out, Jennifer decided. She had agreed to have dinner with him. She would find out what was happening then.

He picked her up early.

Jennifer told the inspector about the mix-up in her hotel and plane reservations.

He shrugged. “Our famous inefficiency, I am afraid. I will look into it.”

“What about Stefan Bjork?”

“Everything is arranged. He will be released tomorrow morning.”

Inspector Touh said something to the driver in Chinese and the car made a U-turn.

“You have not seen Kallang Road. You will find it most interesting.”

The car made a left turn on to Lavender Street, then one block later a right turn to Kallang Bahru. There were large signs advertising florists and casket companies. A few blocks later the car made another turn.

“Where are we?”

Inspector Touh turned to Jennifer and said quietly, “We are on the Street With No Name.”

The car began to move very slowly. There were only undertakers on both sides of the street, row after row of them: Tan Kee Seng, Clin Noh, Ang Yung Long, Goh Soon. Ahead, a funeral was in progress. All the mourners were dressed in white and a three-piece band was playing: a tuba, a sax and drums. A body was laid out on a table with wreaths of flowers around it and a large photograph of the deceased sat on an easel facing the front. Mourners were sitting around, eating.

Jennifer turned to the inspector. “What is this?”

“These are the houses of death. The natives call them the die houses. The word death is difficult for them to pronounce.” He looked at Jennifer and said, “But death is only a part of life, is it not?”

Jennifer looked into his cold eyes and was suddenly frightened.

They went to the Golden Phoenix, and it was not until they were seated that Jennifer had a chance to question him.

“Inspector Touh, did you have a reason for taking me to the crocodile farm and the die houses?”

He looked at her and said evenly, “Of course. I thought they would interest you. Especially since you came here to free your client, Mr. Bjork. Many of our young people are dying because of the drugs that are brought into our country, Miss Parker. I could have taken you to the hospital where we try to treat them, but I felt it might be more informative for you to see where they end up.”

“All that has nothing to do with me.”

“That is a matter of opinion.” All the friendliness had gone out of his voice.

Jennifer said, “Look, Inspector Touh, I’m sure you’re being well paid to—”

“There is not enough money in the world for anyone to pay me.”

He stood up and nodded to someone, and Jennifer turned. Two men in gray suits were approaching the table.

“Miss Jennifer Parker?”

“Yes.”

There was no need for them to pull out their FBI credentials. She knew before they spoke. “FBI. We have extradition papers and a warrant for your arrest. We’re taking you back to New York on the midnight plane.”

When Michael Moretti left his father-in-law’s grave, he was already late for an appointment. He decided to call the office and reschedule it. He stopped at a telephone booth along the highway and dialed the number. The phone rang once and a voice answered, “Acme Builders.”

Michael said, “This is Mike. Tell—”

“Mr. Moretti isn’t here. Call back later.”

Michael felt his body tightening. All he said was “Tony’s Place.”

He hung up and hurried back to the car. Rosa looked at his face and asked, “Is everything all right, Michael?”

“I don’t know. I’m going to drop you off at your cousin’s. Stay there until you hear from me.

Tony followed Michael into the office in the rear of the restaurant.

“I got word that the Feds are crawlin’ all over your house and the downtown office, Mike.”

“Thanks,” Michael said. “I don’t want to be disturbed.”

“You won’t be.”

Michael waited until Tony walked out of the room and closed the door behind him. Then Michael picked up the telephone and furiously began to dial.

It took Michael Moretti less than twenty minutes to learn that a major disaster was taking place. As the reports of the raids and arrests began to filter in, Michael received them with mounting disbelief. All his soldiers and lieutenants were being picked up. Drops were being raided; gambling operations were being seized; confidential ledgers and records were being impounded. What was happening was a nightmare. The police had to be obtaining information from someone in his Organization.

Michael placed telephone calls to other Families around the country, and all of them demanded to know what was going on. They were being badly hurt and no one knew where the leak was coming from. They all suspected it was coming from the Moretti Family.

Jimmy Guardino, in Las Vegas, gave him an ultimatum. “I’m calling on behalf of the Commission, Michael.” The National Commission was the supreme power that superseded the power of any individual Family when there was trouble. “The police are rounding up all the Families. Someone big is singing. The word we get is that it’s one of your boys. We’re giving you twenty-fours to find him and take care of him.”

In the past, police raids had always netted the small fry, the expendables. Now, for the first time, the men at the top were being pulled in. Someone big is singing. The word we get is that it’s one of your boys. They had to be right. Michael’s Family had been the hardest hit, and the police were looking for him. Someone had given them solid evidence, or they never would have mounted a campaign this big. But who could it be? Michael sat back, thinking.

Whoever was tipping off the authorities had inside information that was known only to Michael and his two top lieutenants, Salvatore Fiore and Joseph Colella. Only the three of them knew where the ledgers were hidden, and the FBI had found them. The only other person who would have had the information was Thomas Colfax, but Colfax was buried under a garbage dump in New Jersey.

Michael sat there and thought about Salvatore Fiore and Joseph Colella. It was difficult to believe that either one of them could have broken omert and talked. They had been with him from the beginning; he had handpicked them. He had allowed them to have their own loan-sharking operation on the side and to run a small prostitution ring. Why would they betray him? The answer, of course, was simple: the chair he was sitting in. They wanted his chair. Once he was out, they could move in and take over. They were a team; they had to be in it together.

Michael was filled with a murderous rage. The stupid bastards were trying to pull him down, but they would not live long enough to enjoy it. The first thing he had to do was arrange bail for his men who had been arrested. He needed a lawyer he could trust—Colfax was dead, and Jennifer—Jennifer! Michael could feel the coldness creeping around his heart again. In his head he could hear himself saying, Get back as fast as you can. I’ll miss you. I love you, Jennifer. He had said that and she had betrayed him. She would pay for that.

Michael made a telephone call and sat back to wait, and fifteen minutes later Nick Vito hurried into the office.

“What’s happening?” Michael asked.

“The place is still buzzin’ with Feds, Mike. I drove around the block a couple of times, but I did like you said. I stayed away.”

“I’ve got a job for you, Nick.”

“Sure, boss. What can I do for you?”

“Take care of Salvatore and Joe.”

Nick Vito stared at him. “I—I don’t understand. When you say, take care of them, you don’t mean—”

Michael shouted, “I mean blow their fucking brains out! Do you need a blueprint?”

“N-no,” Nick Vito stammered. “It’s just that I-I-I mean—Sal and Joe are your top men!”

Michael Moretti moved to his feet, his eyes dangerous. “You want to tell me how to run my business, Nick?”

“No, Mike. I—sure. I’ll take care of them for you. When—?”

“Now. Right away. I don’t want them to live to see the moon tonight. Do you understand?”

“Yeah. I understand.”

Michael’s hands tightened into fists. “If I had time, I’d take care of them myself. I want them to hurt, Nick. Make it slow, you hear? Suppilu suppilu.”

“Sure. Okay.”

The door opened and Tony hurried in, his face gray. “There’s two FBI agents out there with a warrant for your arrest. I swear to God I don’t know how they knew you was here. They—”

Michael Moretti turned to Nick Vito and snapped, “Out the back way. Move!” He turned to Tony. “Tell them I’m in the can. I’ll be right with them.”

Michael picked up the telephone and dialed a number. One minute later he was talking to a judge of the Superior Court of New York.

“There are two Feds out here with a warrant for my arrest.”

“What are the charges, Mike?”

“I don’t know and I don’t give a shit. I’m calling you to set things up so that I’m bailed out. I can’t sit around in the slammer. I’ve got things to do.”

There was a silence and the judge’s voice said carefully, “I’m afraid I won’t be able to help you this time, Michael. The heat’s on all over and if I try to interfere—”

When Michael Moretti spoke, there was an ominous note in his voice. “Listen to me, you asshole, and listen good. If I spend one hour in jail, I’ll see to it that you’re behind bars for the rest of your life. I’ve been taking good care of you for a long time. You want me to tell the D.A. how many cases you fixed for me? Would you like me to give the IRS the number of your Swiss bank account? Would you—”

“For God’s sake, Michael!”

“Then move!”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Judge Lawrence Waldman said. “I’ll try to—”

“Try to, shit! Do it! Do you hear me, Larry? Do it!” Michael slammed down the receiver.

His mind was working swiftly and coolly. He was not concerned about being taken to jail. He knew that Judge Waldman would do as he was told, and he could trust Nick Vito to attend to Fiore and Colella. Without their testimony, the government could not prove a thing against him.

Michael looked in the small mirror on the wall, combed back his hair, straightened his tie, and went out to meet the two FBI agents.

Judge Lawrence Waldman came through, as Michael had known he would. At the preliminary hearing, an attorney selected by Judge Waldman requested bail, and it was set at five hundred thousand dollars.

Di Silva stood there, angry and frustrated, as Michael Moretti walked out of the courtroom.

Nick Vito was a man of limited intelligence. His value to the Organization lay in the fact that he followed orders without question and that he carried them out efficiently. Nick Vito had been up against guns and knives dozens of times, but he had never known fear. He knew it now. Something was happening that was beyond his understanding, and he had a feeling that somehow he was responsible for it.

All day he had been hearing about the raids that were taking place, the sweeping arrests that were being made. The street talk was that there was a traitor loose, someone high up in the Organization. Even with his limited intellect, Nick Vito was able to connect the fact that he had let Thomas Colfax live and that, shortly afterward, someone had started betraying the Family to the authorities. Nick Vito knew that it could not be Salvatore Fiore or Joseph Colella. The two men were like brothers to him and they were both as fanatically loyal to Michael Moretti as he was. But there was no way he could ever explain that to Michael, not without getting himself chopped into small pieces; because the only other one who could be responsible was Thomas Colfax, and Colfax was supposed to be dead.

Nick Vito was in a dilemma. He loved the Little Flower and the giant. Fiore and Colella had done him dozens of favors in the past, just as Thomas Colfax had; but he had helped Colfax out of a jam, and look what it had gotten him. So Nick Vito decided he was not going to be softhearted again. It was his own life he had to protect now. Once he killed Fiore and Colella, he would be in the clear. But because they were like brothers to him, he would see that they died quickly.

It was simple for Nick Vito to determine their whereabouts, for they always had to be available in case Michael needed them. Little Salvatore Fiore was visiting his mistress’s apartment on 83rd Street near the Museum of Natural History. Nick knew that Salvatore always left there at five o’clock to go home to his wife. It was now three. Nick debated with himself. He could either hang around the front of the apartment building or go upstairs and take Salvatore inside the apartment. He decided he was too nervous to wait. The fact that he was nervous made Nick Vito more nervous. The whole thing was beginning to get to him. When this is over, he thought, I’m gonna ask Mike for a vacation. Maybe I’ll take a couple of young girls and go down to the Bahamas. Just thinking about that made him feel better.

Nick Vito parked his car around the corner from the apartment house and walked up to the building. He let himself in the front door with a piece of celluloid, ignored the elevator and walked up the stairs to the third floor. He moved toward the door at the end of the corridor, and when he reached it he pounded on it.

“Open up! Police!”

He heard quick sounds from behind the door and a few moments later it opened on a heavy chain and he could see the face and part of the naked figure of Marina, Salvatore Fiore’s mistress.

“Nick!” she said. “You crazy idiot. You scared the hell out of me.”

She took the chain off the door and opened it. “Sal, it’s Nick!”

Little Salvatore Fiore walked in from the bedroom, naked. “Hey, Nicky boy! What the fuck you doin’ here?”

“Sal, I got a message for you from Mike.”

Nick Vito raised a.22 automatic with a silencer and squeezed the trigger. The firing pin slammed into the.22 caliber cartridge, sending the bullet out of the muzzle at a thousand feet a second. The first bullet shattered the bridge of Salvatore Fiore’s nose. The second bullet put out his left eye. As Marina opened her mouth to scream, Nick Vito turned and put a bullet in her head. As she fell to the floor, he put one more bullet in her chest, to make certain. It’s a waste of a beautiful piece of ass, Nick thought, but Mike wouldn’t like it if I left any witnesses around.

Big Joseph Colella owned a horse that was running in the eighth race at Belmont Park in Long Island. Belmont was a one-and-one-half-mile track, the perfect length for the filly that the giant was running. He had advised Nick to bet on it. In the past, Nick had won a lot on Colella’s tips. Colella always put a little money on for Nick when his horses ran. As Nick Vito walked toward Colella’s box, he thought regretfully about the fact that there would be no more tips. The eighth race had just started. Colella was standing up in his box, cheering his horse on. It was a large-purse race and the crowd was screaming and yelling as the horses rounded the first turn.

Nick Vito stepped into the box behind Colella and said, “How you doin’, pal?”

“Hey, Nick! You got here just in time. Beauty Queen’s gonna win this one. I put a little bet on it for you.”

“That’s great, Joe.”

Nick Vito pressed the.22 caliber gun against Joseph Colella’s spine and fired three times through his coat. The muffled noise went unnoticed in the cheering crowd. Nick watched Joseph Colella slump to the ground. He debated for an instant whether to take the pari-mutuel tickets out of Colella’s pocket, then decided against it. After all, the horse could lose.

Nick Vito turned and unhurriedly walked toward the exit, one anonymous figure among thousands.

Michael Moretti’s private line rang.

“Mr. Moretti?”

“Who wants him?”

“This is Captain Tanner.”

It took Michael a second to place the name. A police captain. Queens precinct. On the payroll.

“This is Moretti.”

“I just received some information I think might interest you.”

“Where are you calling from?”

“A public telephone booth.”

“Go ahead.”

“I found out where all the heat’s coming from.”

“You’re too late. They’ve been taken care of already.”

“They? Oh. I only heard about Thomas Colfax.”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Colfax is dead.”

It was Captain Tanner’s turn to be confused. “What are you talking about? Thomas Colfax is sitting at the Marine Base in Quantico right now, spilling his guts to everybody who’ll listen.”

“You’re out of your mind,” Michael snapped. “I happen to know—” He stopped. What did he know? He had told Nick Vito to kill Thomas Colfax, and Vito had said that he had. Michael sat there thinking. “How sure are you about this, Tanner?”

“Mr. Moretti, would I be calling you if I wasn’t sure?”

“I’ll check it out. If you’re right, I owe you one.”

“Thank you, Mr. Moretti.”

Captain Tanner replaced the receiver, pleased with himself. In the past he had found Michael Moretti to be a very appreciative man. This could be the big one, the one that could enable him to retire. He stepped out of the telephone booth into the cold October air.

There were two men standing outside the booth, and as the captain started to step around them, one of them blocked his way. He held up an identification card.

“Captain Tanner? I’m Lieutenant West, Internal Security Division. The Police Commissioner would like to have a word with you.”

Michael Moretti hung up the receiver slowly. He knew with a sure animal instinct that Nick Vito had lied to him. Thomas Colfax was still alive. That would explain everything that was happening. He was the one who had turned traitor. And Michael had sent Nick Vito out to kill Fiore and Colella. Jesus, he had been stupid! Outsmarted by a dumb hired gunman into wasting his two top men! He was filled with an icy rage.

He dialed a number and spoke briefly into the telephone. After he made a second telephone call, he sat back and waited.

When he heard Nick Vito on the phone, Michael forced himself to keep the fury he felt out of his voice. “How did it go, Nick?”

“Okay, boss. Just like you said. They both suffered a lot.”

“I can always count on you, Nick, can’t I?”

“You know you can, boss.”

“Nick, I want you to do me one last favor. One of the boys left a car at the corner of York and Ninety-fifth Street. It’s a tan Camaro. The keys are behind the sun visor. We’re going to use it for a job tonight. Drive it over here, will you?”

“Sure, boss. How soon do you need it? I was going to—”

“I need it now. Right away, Nick.”

“I’m on my way.”

“Good-bye, Nick.”

Michael replaced the receiver. He wished he could be there to watch Nick Vito blow himself to hell, but he had one more urgent thing to do.

Jennifer Parker would be on her way back soon, and he wanted to get everything ready for her.

It’s like some kind of goddamned Hollywood movie production, Major General Roy Wallace thought, with my prisoner as the star.

The large conference room at the United States Marine Corps base was filled with technicians from the Signal Corps, scurrying around setting up cameras and sound and lighting equipment, using an arcane jargon.

“Kill the brute and hit the inkies. Bring a baby over here…”

They were getting ready to put Thomas Colfax’s testimony on film.

“It’s extra insurance,” District Attorney Di Silva had argued. “We know that no one can get to him, but it will be good to have it on the record, anyway.” And the others had gone along with him.

The only person absent was Thomas Colfax. He would be brought in at the last minute, when everything was in readiness for him.

Just like a goddamn movie star.

Thomas Colfax was having a meeting in his cell with David Terry of the Justice Department, the man in charge of creating new identities for witnesses who wished to disappear.

“Let me explain a bit about the Federal Witness Security Program,” Terry said. “When the trial is over, we’ll send you to whichever country you choose. Your furniture and other belongings will be shipped to a warehouse in Washington, with a coded number. We’ll forward it to you later. There won’t be any way for anyone to trace you. We’ll supply you with a new identity and background and, if you wish, a new appearance.”

“I’ll take care of that.” He trusted no one to know what he was going to do with his appearance.

“Ordinarily when we set people up with a new identity, we find jobs for them in whatever field they’re suited for, and we supply them with some money. In your case, Mr. Colfax, I understand that money is no problem.”

Thomas Colfax wondered what David Terry would say if he knew how much money was salted away in his bank accounts in Germany, Switzerland and Hong Kong. Even Thomas Colfax had not been able to keep track of it all, but a modest estimate, he would guess, would be nine or ten million dollars.

“No,” Colfax said, “I don’t think money will be a problem.”

“All right, then. The first thing to decide is where you would like to go. Do you have any particular area in mind?”

It was such a simple question, yet so much lay behind it. What the man was really saying was, Where do you want to spend the rest of your life? For Colfax knew that when he got to wherever he was going, he would never be able to leave. It would become his new habitat, his protective cover, and he would not be safe anywhere else in the world.

“Brazil.”

It was the logical choice. He already owned a two-hundred-thousand-acre plantation there in the name of a Panamanian corporation that could not be traced back to him. The plantation itself was like a fortress. He could afford to buy himself enough protection so that even if Michael Moretti did finally learn where he was, no one would be able to touch him. He could buy anything, including all the women he wanted. Thomas Colfax liked Latin women. People thought that when a man reached the age of sixty-five he was finished sexually, that he no longer had any interest, but Colfax had found that his appetite had grown as he had gotten older. His favorite sport was to have two or three beautiful young women in bed with him at the same time, working him over. The younger the better.

“Brazil will be easy to arrange,” David Terry was saying. “Our government will buy you a small house there, and—”

Дата добавления: 2015-11-04